


Swan Dive

by TrickstersLittleHelper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depressed Michael, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mention of Canon Death, Swan Song, The Cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickstersLittleHelper/pseuds/TrickstersLittleHelper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael faces his brother with a heavy heart and dark memories at Stull cemetery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Dive

Michael never wanted to be a leader, but despite his wishes a leader was what he was. Or more specifically a General who lead his armies with cold, ruthless efficiency. Perfection was expected and disappointment something to be feared.

He had never been able to reconcile the leader he was expected to be, indeed created to be, with the brother he wanted to be. He loved all his brothers and sisters dearly, but somewhere along the way they had forgotten that. They had forgotten that every single one of them had, at some point or another, curled up in his arms seeking protection or consolation, and that every single time he had stopped what he was doing and simply held them until they calmed down and were ready to face the world outside his warm, graphite gray wings yet again.  
He had always enjoyed hearing the young ones get excited about their new ideas or discoveries; always taken time when one of them wanted to show him a fancy aerial maneuver they had just mastered; always put his own work aside when one of his siblings had wanted his help or opinion on one of their own projects no matter how silly or insignificant it had seemed to others.  
Time had taken all of that away from him. Even the youngest of his siblings had grown up and found their places within the Host. No one ever came running with a smile on their face and barely contained excitement in their words anymore. But he had accepted that, they knew their places, knew their jobs, and had over time gotten quite proficient at them, so he left them to it. Besides, the happy, innocent days of youth doesn’t last forever, not even for immortal beings like angels.

But as he himself got more and more busy, or perhaps some would say, buried himself in work, the visits from his siblings lessened and eventually dwindled to nothing. Michael wasn’t sure if he had pushed them away, but he honestly wouldn’t doubt it. Eventually he only saw a handful of them, and it was only ever related to keeping Heaven running smoothly, or The Plan. He grew distant from his brothers and sisters, and at some point they stopped being family and simply became his underlings. Again he wasn’t sure who stopped treating who as family first, but the once warm, welcoming home of the Host grew cold, clinical, and uncaring. Much like the facade the oldest angel himself hid behind.

Perhaps that was why he never tried to keep Anael from running. It had hurt to see the measures she had taken to hide herself away, yes, and her disobedience was something that couldn’t be tolerated within the Host. It only took one to throw Heaven in to anarchy after all. But when she ran he had felt something akin to happiness for her. She could live the life she wanted outside of Heaven and without being a threat to the Host. He had silently prayed that it would last and his bright, wild little sister would be safe, and when she forced his hand he thought that he felt a pang of what might have been remorse.

He hadn’t even been upset when strange little Castiel had sided with the Winchesters. Michael had never quite understood the seraph who was still so young in his eyes, but Gabriel had adored the quiet little fledgling from the moment he saw him, and that in turn had endeared him to Michael. As he watched Castiel now he couldn’t help but think that Gabriel would have been proud of him.

Gabriel? There was a wound that was all too old and all too new at the same time. He had known the fighting had gone too far when Gabriel fled. The arguments between Michael and Lucifer had always hurt the littlest archangel the most and from time to time he’d try to go between and stop them. Sometimes he’d have tears in his eyes and be pulling at his brothers wings to get their attention, other times they’d hear his sobbing from the other side of a locked door. It was always enough to make them at least calm down enough to tend to Gabriel’s frayed emotions, and by the time they were alone again Michael and Lucifer could usually have a more civil discussion.

That was until Michael had turned his anger from Lucifer and towards their golden-winged little brother and told him to get out. Michael had realized his mistake before he even closed his mouth, but it had been too late. That had been the last time Gabriel was seen in Heaven, and the true beginning of the infamous war between Michael and Lucifer that forever tore Heaven apart.

Not even Raphael had forgiven him for what had happened that day. He didn’t even give him credit for tracking Gabriel down and watching over him. The Healer kept insisting he should talk to Gabriel, ask his forgiveness and bring him home. But how could he when Gabriel turned and ran any time he so much as sensed Michael’s presence? Clearly their beloved little brother wasn’t ready to talk, or to forgive so Michael respected his wishes and kept his distance. He watched as Gabriel found a new home among the pagans, and he wept as he turned from the curious Gabriel and in to the cruel and bitter Trickster.

By the time he collected himself enough to notice that Raphael wasn’t a benevolent, patient healer anymore, but something more akin to a shrewd politician or dictator Michael found he simply didn’t care anymore. He was out of tears to cry and caring was just so exhausting. And so what if Raphael wanted to believe their father was dead? If it made it easier on him then so be it. If their father was alive, then surely Heaven must have crushed any joy for life out of him anyway, and as far as Michael was concerned there wasn’t much of a difference.

So here he stood, facing his brother on this cold, gray, pathetic excuse of a battlefield. A willing pawn in the game of an uncaring healer that had claimed the lives of Anael, Gabriel, and countless more, and still it demanded more. More blood, more pain, and at least one more angelic life.

Lucifer was the one of the angels who had changed the least over this painful eternity. He still remembered how to feel, the pleading in his voice when he asked for them to just walk away was very much real, and the love when he reminded Michael that they were brothers was as raw as it was heartbreaking.  
Not for the first time Michael thought that despite everything Lucifer was the one who had gotten of easy. He had been allowed his rebellion, been able to express his feelings in a way that Michael could only admire and envy. Yes it had consequences, but at least Lucifer hadn’t been forced to watch their home turn in to an unrecognizable caricature of itself, and unlike Michael, Lucifer could genuinely say that it wasn’t his fault. He might not recognize Heaven if he ever got to go home, but there was no doubt in Michael’s mind that the fierce love Lucifer still possessed for his family would be enough to restore Heaven to it’s former glory. Perhaps it was the only thing still capable of doing it.

Michael’s attempt to goad Lucifer in to striking first was half-hearted at best. He was too weary to put much effort behind it, and there wasn’t enough emotion left in him to fuel whatever fire he needed for this battle. This so called Apocalypse that was centuries if not millennia too early. That he’d only agreed to because it meant a way out, that this draining, crushing, deadening existence could finally be over. Not that Michael had ever intended to raise his blade against Lucifer. He was the one thing, one being left that Michael still cared about, and he refused to keep on existing with the knowledge that he’d destroyed that too. Yes The Plan demanded that they fight, but Lucifer longed for freedom and Michael for oblivion, it was just a shame that Raphael wouldn’t get his Paradise.

The sound of music playing over a rumbling engine brought Michael back to the reality of the old graveyard. The ever difficult Dean Winchester and friends had arrived to attempt to meddle one last time, and it was just enough to make Michael’s dreaded temper flare, and if the cold wind the eldest archangel felt through the searing holy fire Castiel had just attacked him with was any indication Lucifer wasn’t happy either.

Michael wasn’t sure how long he was gone, the empty space in-between realms that the flames banished him to didn’t exactly work within what would be considered the normal laws of physics. By his best estimate it had only been a few minutes at the most, not that he cared much. The important thing was that Dean was now in bad enough shape to be unable interfere anymore and Lucifer was still present.

Except everything was wrong. This wasn’t how their father wrote his great Plan. The gate to The Cage wasn’t supposed to be open, and Lucifer shouldn’t be pushed to the back of his vessel scrambling for control. And Sam Winchester wasn’t supposed to be throwing Heavens brightest, most beloved angel back in to the dark, empty bowels of creation. Lucifer didn’t deserve that.

Michael rushed to catch his brother and for a split second he forgot that Sam Winchester was in control, not Lucifer. It was more than enough time for Sam to grab Michael by the arm and pull the archangel off his balance and over the edge of the gaping pit.

An unearthly cold rose hit the angels as they fell and damp autumn air rushed past them to fill the void. As the pit began to close above them an earsplitting shriek reached Michael’s ears as his brother regained control of his vessel and pushed him away, up towards the dwindling light.  
All Michael had to do was spread his wings, a single beat of those huge, primordial appendages would be enough to carry him to freedom. Lucifer’s eyes were pleading with him to make a break for it, his grace pushing Michael towards the sickly gray pinprick of daylight impossibly far above them. Michael however was too lost in the sight below him to notice as it blinked out of existence.

Lucifer was falling below him, his burned and mangled wings spread wide to slow his decent. They were too damaged for flight, but they still held a light and beauty Michael had thought long lost and forgotten. As the world above vanished, the lights that the universe had been based on lit up the darkness around them. Stars chased each other through the elegant galaxies and nebulae of light and color in Lucifer’s wings and bright, unimaginable auroras danced at the edge of each feather.  
And for the first time in a long, lonely eternity Michael wept.


End file.
